Malfoy Manner: Birthday Witch
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: The advent of Narcissa's birthday has her dwelling on aging, Draco dwelling on distracting her, and Harry Potter dwelling on the Malfoys. Can the three turn an awkward situation into a birthday bash to remember? Usual warnings include incest, but let's add voyeurism and multi-party-member sex... DM/NM/HP.
1. The Pitch

Malfoy Manner:

Birthday Witch

Part the First: The Pitch

It was misting rain over the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Draco Malfoy flexed his fingers inside his black dragonhide gloves and climbed another flight of stairs. Impressive, really – the craftsmanship he'd purchased. He smiled at the neatly fitted joints and sizable timbers. He entered the Slytherin VIP box via an elaborately embroidered tapestry hanging. The box was completely enclosed to protect its inhabitants from the less than friendly elements and he felt warming charms permeating the air.

Draco smirked at the mop of dark hair facing out over the pitch. "A clandestine meeting indeed, Mr. Potter – lion in the snake's lair."

Harry jerked from the railing and spun toward Malfoy. He chuckled nervously and coughed. "Yeah, well. You built it, so I could hardly refuse your terms, could I?" He gestured widely. "What do you think?"

"Bloody amazing." Draco's smile was easy and genuine. He came to lean on the railing beside Harry, looked out over the expansive new pitch. "Better than I even hoped for. I'm pleased." He punched Potter's shoulder.

Harry chuffed. "Pleased? That's the understatement of the decade, here. Bit like me saying, 'Oh, it was just Voldemort.'"

Draco laughed aloud, surprised and further pleased Potter was able to lark about the war some. "Well, I did see old McGonagall on my way down. She's proud as a peacock."

"We all are. It's really…" Potter stared out at the field, cleared his throat abruptly. "It's really something, Draco. There are no words."

"Bugger words," Draco groused. "When's the first game?" He was staring intently at Harry's face, wondering why the man couldn't seem to meet his gaze. _Perhaps I shouldn't have laughed at the Voldemort joke…_

"You're going to love this." Harry grinned. "Slytherin versus Gryffindor next Friday."

"I'll be here."

"Damn right you will." Harry pushed off the railing again, rubbed his hands together. "Want to take a look at the broom housing? It's state of the art." He led Draco down the stairs quickly, babbling, still avoiding eye contact at all costs. "We'll cross the pitch. Let you take in the real scope of it all. The students…they um…they had to compete for the first game. House points, you know. Slytherin put forth a real showing, I tell you."

Their cloaks brushed together occasionally in the cold November wind – Potter's a soft brown and Draco's pitch black. Malfoy found himself musing strangely on his comrade. _Hardly the boy I dueled in Lockhart's class. I suppose we're men, now. Grown and responsible and such shite._ He looked up into the space between the enormous goal baskets and stifled a laugh. _Still a bit of a nervous Nancy, Potter is._ _But I suppose some people are simply born antsy._

Harry waved his wand over the heavy latch on the broom housing's door. "We uh – we keep it quite heavily warded, of course. New brooms and all. Which are fantastic, by the way."

The door swung open and Draco entered the dim chamber. Sconces flared and he inhaled deeply. It smelled like new timber and broom straw. Almost…erotic. "I thought Firebolts were the best choice, really. Reliable. Fairly safe."

"I've no complaints." The door banged shut behind them and Harry jumped. "Er…they arrived already outfitted with house colors. Very sharp." He pointed up to where row upon row of neatly appointed brooms hung from bronzed racks.

Draco meandered until he stood beneath the Slytherin brooms and tugged one from its hook. "Fancy a go, Potter?"

Harry nearly tripped on something invisible. "Uh…well, no. Actually. I um…I'll have to get back to the castle and –"

"What the devil's wrong with you, Potter?" Draco spun the Firebolt in his hands leisurely. "You act like you're afraid we'll get detention for sneaking about down here." He suddenly sobered. "We're not going to get detention for sneaking about down here, are we, Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath and finally faced him squarely. "Malfoy."

"Oh, shite."

"Oh shite, what?" Harry's forehead creased.

Draco smoothly levitated the broom and leaned upon it. "You've been nervous as a kneazle in a room full of rockers and you just went all serious. I suspect there's something dreadfully wrong."

"Hell." Harry rubbed his face and began to pace. "I don't even know how to…"

"How to what?"

"How to say this."

Draco arched both brows. "Well, you asked me over lunch once if I was a poof. What could possibly be more awkward than that?"

"I didn't ask you if you were a poof!"

Draco shrugged. "You did, sir."

"Well, you're obviously not a poof, alright?"

"I hope you aren't taking me at my word alone, Potter."

Harry stopped pacing. He wasn't sharing in Draco's humor. He swallowed loudly and stared at the highly polished cherry flooring. "I'm going to tell you this because…because I have to. Because I think it will kill me if I don't."

"Merlin's saggy man teets, Potter." Draco crossed his legs. "What could possibly be so bloody awful?"

"It's about Hallow's Eve."

Draco blinked. "Yes?" His tone was measured.

"At Grimmauld Place."

More blinking. "Yes?" The tone was even more measured.

"When you and your mum came –"

"Yes, Potter," Draco fairly snapped. "The incident occurred barely three weeks ago now and I'm hardly feeble-minded _yet_. I quite recall the gathering." His lip suddenly curled. "This better not be about Shacklebolt. We certainly didn't mean to cause any awkwardness. I mean hell, my mum came back to apologize for _him_ trying to investigate _her_ tonsils with his tongue. As far as I was aware there were no ill feelings. Kingsley even admitted he'd been in the cups and the times I've seen him since at the Ministry he's seemed perfectly –"

"Draco, I saw you and your mum fucking in the graveyard by Grimmauld!" The words rushed out as if pushing one another, racing to relief.

There are many types of silence; the silence of a peaceful afternoon spent curled with a quality book, the silence of two people content to share peace, the silence of a snowy morning descending after a night in a warm bed. There's the silence of a sleeping baby. And then there's the awkward silence; the silence before a death sentence is handed down, the silence of a failing grade, the silence of unrequited love. There's the paralyzing silence of a black hole swallowing all…

And then there's the silence following the discovery of incest.

Draco found this latter silence to be the most excruciating of any silence he'd suffered in his life thus far. It seemed impenetrable, and as if it emanated from the desperate pall on Harry Potter's pained visage. It was broken when his balance shifted and the broom beneath his arse wobbled precariously. His shoes scuffed against the slippery floors as he righted himself, flushed and shaking. "What?"

It was a ridiculous response, he knew. But he had nothing else in his mind, felt completely sucked dry. "You mean you saw –"

"Yes."

Draco blanched. "Did you tell –"

Harry's fingers made a clutching gesture. "I – I – I swear to you, Malfoy – I've not told a bloody soul!" If it was possible, he looked as desperately horrified as Draco felt.

Draco felt his heart racing out of control and rounded on Potter. "You're bloody well right, you haven't told…" Suddenly his throat felt tight. _Gods, my mother. _The instinct to defend her was overwhelming. "Look here, Potter. I don't know what you want –"

"I don't want anything, Malfoy!" Harry ran hands through his shocked locks. "I'm trying to tell you –"

"Is it money? I'll give you whatever you want."

"Oh, there's Slytherin thinking," Harry spat. "Immediate blackmail. Well, surprise, Draco! I'm not after your bloody money!"

"What then?!" Draco's voice took on a high, terrified pitch.

"I just had to fucking tell you!" Harry shouted. "I had to because I can't stop bloody _thinking_ about it! _Seeing_ it in my head! It's like a sickness!" He felt quite out of sorts now, at once offended and confident. He'd never imagined having the upper hand in a situation involving a Malfoy.

Draco took a shuddering breath and paced his own path back and forth. "I'm sorry you had to be sickened, Potter." His eyes watered and he shook off the weakness of tears. "And if you're wanting shame from me, fuck off. Because you'll not hear regret out of my mouth. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"You're right. I don't understand." Harry sighed, calmed considerably. "But I don't think you understand, either."

"What do you mean?" Draco regarded his friend (_We are friends, right? Even now?) _from the shadows beneath the brooms.

Harry stepped into those same shadows, shared them with Malfoy. "I didn't mean it's a sickness _you_ have. Although it probably is." He shook his head helplessly. "I mean it's like a sickness _I _have now. I can't stop thinking of it. It's distracting." He gathered his thoughts, and Draco waited patiently if warily, watching. "As insane as it sounds…I think the two of you were so…beautiful together. It was…indescribable."

Draco stepped back, disbelief sharpening his features. "What?"

Harry's shoulders fell as if in surrender to the inevitable. "You looked like Greek statues come to life. So perfect and white and…just like that marble tomb you were on. It was…" He shook his head. "I could have looked away. I could have run back to the party. I could have vomited in the bloody shrubs. But I didn't. I fucking _watched_, Malfoy!" His hands twitched at his sides. "And I'm sorry for that."

"Watched…" Realizations were taking place in Draco's head. "Gods, Potter. Just how much did you see?"

"Everything."

"Everything." Draco repeated numbly. He re-levitated the broom. Leaned against it again. Fussed with a cufflink. "I see." He cleared his throat. _Time for business._ "So. Feel better, I assume? Getting this off your chest?"

Harry nodded. Considered. "I think so."

"You think so."

"Yes." He winced. "May I…ask a question?"

Draco winced, too. "I suppose I can't stop you asking a question." _Well, I could. My wand is in my jacket, after all._

"How long?"

A sardonic smirk. "I assume you're referring to a length of time, Potter? Since you've seen the measurements on everything else."

Harry blushed, but didn't let Draco's sarcasm deter him. "How long have you been…"

"Fucking my mother?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tugged down another Slytherin broom. He levitated it and assumed a position similar to Draco's. "Fine. Yes. How long have you been…intimate with her?"

A surreal calm settled over Draco. It was exceedingly odd to be speaking of this – especially to Harry Bloody Potter of all people. But it felt as if a great weight was melting from his shoulders as he spoke. "Since my father's funeral."

Harry nodded, his green eyes soft. "Your father's funeral." His own calculations were running rampant. "So…what you told us that time in Arthur's shed…"

"I lied."

"Right."

"Trust me. You don't want details."

Harry snorted. "All this time. I never would have known."

"That's rather the point." Draco bit his lip. "It's not something my mother or I would want –"

"Oh, gods no!" Harry exclaimed. "Of course not."

The silence of absorption. The silence of truths and facts being processed. Of realities shifting and relationships changing. Draco sighed to break this one. "Look, Potter…"

"Hm?"

"Would you find me a disgusting person if I said…if I said I love her? That I could never imagine loving another witch?"

Harry considered. Looked boldly at Draco's shadowed face. "Not disgusting, no." He seemed to reach a difficult decision and drew himself up accordingly. "Would you find me a disgusting person if I said…if I said I wanted to see it again?"

"See…see it - you mean, us - again?" His voice sounded impossibly small.

Harry nodded.

Draco rubbed his hand harshly over his face. "Bloody hell, Harry…"

The broom house darkened. The silence of waiting, thinking and knowing descended.

**AN: **Thanks for this piece goes out to Narcissa's Dragon and the lovely Narcissa Nerea for their respective and respected opinions, proofreadings and inspirations. Two more little chapters to go!


	2. Party Plotters

Malfoy Manner:

Birthday Witch

Part the Second: Party Plotters

Draco apparated back to Malfoy Manor. While the Scotch weather had been wet and unwelcoming, Wiltshire was at least sunny with its cold. In the spacious foyer, Draco performed a quick drying spell on his cloak and sent it flying to a peg on the wall. His forehead was creased unnaturally and distraction had him quietly pensive.

"Welcome home."

"Gah!" He leapt nearly a foot at the sound of her voice near his ear. "Mum. Shite. You scared me."

"I can see that." Her perfectly manicured brow arched highly. "What has you so jumpy?"

"Jumpy?" He shivered when she pulled his mouth to hers for a welcome home kiss. It was as wet as the Scotch weather and left him breathless. "I'm not jumpy."

Her hand traveled to his tight tummy and she chuckled when he lurched away from the ticklish touch. "Of course you're not. Mint is making a roast for dinner."

"Sounds wonderful." Truthfully, the butterflies in his stomach were making thoughts of food unpleasant at the moment.

His mother was swaying away from him, down the hall toward the drawing room. "There's a cuppa for you," she called to him, "if you'd like something hot inside you." She turned coyly in the doorframe, the black velvet of her long frock coat purring against the wood. "I know I would…"

He gulped audibly and followed her.

The drawing room was sunny and warm. A little fire crackled in the grate and indeed, a steaming pot of tea awaited him. Narcissa sat to the tea table and looked at him expectantly. "How is the pitch?"

"Impressive." He sat. Tried to smile. _Act natural._ He upset the creamer. "Blast!" Fumbled for his wand.

But his mother was quicker and smoother. Her vanishing charm made quick work of the mess. "Are you certain you're all right, son? You seem out of sorts."

"Fine." He spoke too loudly. Lowered his voice. "I'm really…just fine. You?"

She eyed him far too suspiciously. "I'm quite well, thank you."

"Good! Great." He nodded. She narrowed her gaze. _Change the subject!_ "So. The pitch. It's brilliant."

"I'm glad." She sipped her tea. "And how was Mr. Potter?"

"Potter?"

"Didn't you meet Mr. Potter there?"

"Oh! Yes. Potter." More nodding. "He's fine. Really…fine."

"Draco."

"What?"

"What's happened?"

"What do you mean?"

Narcissa sighed in frustration. "I can tell something is wrong with you and you're pointedly avoiding any talk of Potter, so I assume whatever has disturbed your faculties involves Potter."

"How do you _know_ these things?"

"I'm your mother. Now, tell me what's wrong."

Draco picked at a fingernail. "I'm not certain I'm ready to discuss it."

"Oh, dear."

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Did he ask if you were gay again?"

"No! Mum… I would like to discuss this later. Please."

"Fine." She spread her hands in a 'forgotten' gesture. "Please pass the sugar." The rest of their tea passed in silence.

Silence also reigned over dinner with Draco looking sullen and picking at his meal. Narcissa made no comment, but he could feel her eyes on him. The concern etching her features deepened when he refused dessert, but still she didn't press him. He stood. "I've some work to take care of in the study," he told her, squeezing her shoulder.

She lifted her chin for a kiss. "Very well."

He could feel her tension, her displeasure at being in the dark. "Mother. I will tell you. Just…please give me some time." She nodded. Her fingers stroked his hand as he walked away.

In the study, he immersed himself in some Ministry paperwork. He wrote a few missives. He paid a few bills. He rearranged a section of bookshelf by subject rather than by alphabet. He started a fire. He paced. He rehearsed over and over again how to tell her, how to even broach the subject. "Mother. Remember how you said a few weeks ago that it would be nice to have two lovely boys?" _No, that will never do. _"How would you like to play to a captivated audience, mum?" _Hell no._

The open, leering mouth on the black bearskin rug mocked him. He made a face back at it, then kicked at the taxidermied head. "Bugger off," he grumbled. He dropped into a creaky leather wingback chair and stared into the flames. _What a bloody awful mess._

It wasn't the thought of asking her to be watched, really. His asking probably wouldn't surprise her in the least. No. He knew what would upset her was the thought of being _known_. That there was someone out there who had seen them – who knew their secret. And the fact that it was Harry Potter… Well. She would simply be devastated.

He half expected the knock that echoed in the silent study. "Come in," he called unnecessarily.

She came to stand beside the chair and he looked up at her. Even without Greek robes, she was a goddess. The kimono hugged her curves, indigo blue in the peacock print brightening her eyes. "Good evening," she whispered.

"Hello." He stroked her hip and she cupped his jaw. "Is it late?"

"Quite." She perched on the chair's arm. "Will you come to bed?"

He nodded. Doubted he would be able to sleep, though. Suddenly, he just wanted _her_. Wrapped an arm around her waist and put his face into her belly. "I love you," he said.

She stroked his head. "Draco. I wish you could tell me what's bothering you…"

He sighed into her softness, rubbed helplessly against the silk. _Tell her._ He looked up. "Potter…told me something today." The firelight flickering across her caring face lured him to her gentler nature. She was ever his strength. Calm. Composed. She was the Witch Who Lied, for fuck's sake.

"What did he tell you?" Her fingertips were ever so lightly caressing his ear.

"You remember the Hallow's Eve gathering at Grimmauld."

"Mm-hm. I'm old, but I'm not yet feeble-minded." He scowled and pinched her bum. "Ow! Prat." She swatted at his hand and it came to rest on a breast. "This better not be about Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"No. It isn't." He took a deep breath. "It's about us."

"What about us?"

"Harry saw us."

"Harry saw us what?" Her fingers slowed on his ear.

"He saw us in the cemetery."

Her fingers stopped altogether. He thought he heard her heart stop, too. "He saw us leaving the cemetery?"

Draco's eyes closed. He silently prayed to the goddess for strength. "No, mum. He saw everything that happened in the cemetery."

She slipped stiffly from his embrace and was on her feet. He looked to her face, worried. She looked at the fire, but he could tell she stared at nothing. "Mother?" Her hand raised, silencing him. The other hand, shaking, covered her mouth.

"He – he told you this?" Her voice was tremulous, frightened.

Draco sat up, wanting to reassure her. "Yes. But -"

"What does he want?"

He would have laughed at their similar ways of thinking had she not appeared on the verge of a nervous breakdown. _Probably not the time to mention Potter's voyeuristic streak. _"He doesn't want anything, mum."

"Bollocks!" She snapped. Her eyes flashed. Draco's brows shot up. He rarely heard this type of talk from his mother, much less in this tone. She stalked to his desk – probably just for the motion – and leaned against it. "You don't tell someone something like that unless you want something. Is it money?"

"He doesn't want money." Draco stood, approached her cautiously with hands raised.

"Then he wants something else." Suddenly her shoulders sagged and she ran her hands through her hair. "Oh, gods. Draco."

"Mother." He rubbed ineffectually at her arms. Kissed the top of her head. "Potter is not going to blackmail us or use this against us in any way, I assure you."

"How do you know?" Her desperate eyes were breaking his heart.

"Because…" He hesitated. "Because he isn't going to tell anyone. Alright? I trust him."

She chewed at her bottom lip. "Fucking hell, Draco." He chuffed a breath at the curse. "Now every time I look at Potter, I'll know he's thinking of us…" She made a dreadfully rude gesture.

Draco tried not to laugh. "You've no idea."

He was rubbing her back, feeling her tension drain. When she stiffened again, he pulled away and looked at her. "Mum? I promise you this will be alright."

"You said he saw everything." Her forehead was creased in thought.

"Yes."

The expression that spread across her face was alternately terrifying and alluring. "You're implying he didn't just _see_, Draco. You're implying that he _watched_."

_Oh, hell. _"Er…"

"Well?" She pushed away from the desk, stood flush against Draco. He recognized the determination in her eyes.

"He – he _did_ say something about that."

"Did he _enjoy_ himself?" Determination morphed into the look she normally wore the week before her menstrual cycle – the week he barely left her bed.

"Mother!" It was amazing how insightful she could be.

"Did he?" She was completely calm again – completely rational.

Draco leveled with her. "He did." At her satisfied smirk, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. "He said something about…wanting to see us again."

"Oh?" She kissed his thumb, bit at it. Draco's nostrils flared and he watched her take hold of his hand, thoroughly seducing that thumb with her mouth. She was such sweet sin. "And did you…discuss the possibility with him?"

He blinked. _She can't be serious. _"Of course not." He didn't notice his erection until it was aching. "All I could think about was getting the hell out of there."

She released his hand and slipped past him, purposefully brushing her breasts across his ribs. "Perhaps you should."

"Should?" He was stymied when she dropped her dressing gown. Greeted by her bare back and perfect arse. She cast an inviting glance over her shoulder before sinking to the rug before the fire. He was shedding his cufflinks as he approached. "Mother?" He lay his suit jacket and shirt across the leather chair.

"Contact Mr. Potter," she instructed softly. "I should like him to attend my birthday dinner next week." The firelight played splendid tricks in the shadows of her many curves. Her hand snaked up Draco's trousered leg to help him fuss his belt open.

He was hypnotized by her beauty, by her actions. And when her wide, startling eyes met his, he was done. "I'll owl him tomorrow…if you like."

She tugged gently on his hard-on, bringing him to the rug beside her. "I would like that very much, darling."

She stretched against him, plied his mouth with hers, made her lust apparent against his hip. "Narcissa."

"Hm?" Her lips were busy on his neck.

"Are you inviting Harry Potter here to watch us fuck?"

"Such a foul term, Draco." The fur beneath them was lush, but her body was lusher. She curled a leg around his back when he tumbled her. "I'd prefer to call it…making love."

Draco shrugged beneath her spidering arms. "It's _your_ birthday, witch." He would deny her nothing – ever. And truthfully, the spark that flared in his gut at the thought of an audience was intriguing and bewitching. He wondered if stoked properly, would it create an ample flame?

Whatever the case for her birthday, there were definitely flames between them tonight. Perhaps the thought of being watched was provocative for both of them, or perhaps it was the fire currently casting fascinating silhouettes on their pale bodies, or the feral surface upon which they coupled; either way, there was an intensity in their joining that Draco found nearly intimidating.

He hooked a creamy knee over his shoulder, angling her to penetrate deeper. Pushed her harder toward the profound deliverance that would free them both. He felt and heard her breath catch on a particularly powerful thrust. "Draco, baby!"

"Yes, Narcissa." He growled. He _loved_ when she called him baby – something she never called him outside of copulation. He thrust a little faster, jutted his hips a little higher. Felt the coil in her retracting, threatening to spring. Her breasts jarred with each plunge and he watched them shake. "Fuck, you're gorgeous, mum."

"You are, too, darling!" Her voice sharpened, thready and thinned by impending orgasm.

He felt sweat across his brow, perhaps a trickle sliding to the end of his nose. He stared into her darkened eyes, watched her lips curl away from her teeth. "I can see why he wants to watch. Hell!" The pleasure caught up to him suddenly and she was with him. Her arms clutched tight round his shoulders and she arched her neck on an abandoned cry.

Draco slowed his thrusts, shallowed them as they both unraveled and unwound. He'd tracked the aftershocks that rocked his mother's body and was quite proud of himself. "Mmm. That was…"

"Intense?" Her hoarse voice asked. He nodded into her cleavage. She traced random patterns on his back and upper arms.

"As always," he murmured. Reluctantly, he shifted to her side and gathered her to his. They were stuck together by a thin coat of sweat.

Narcissa sighed contentedly and pulled her discarded dressing gown over the two of them. Her idle designs migrated to his chest. "We are rather perfect together, aren't we?"

"No argument here," he grumbled.

"Is it vain to think so?"

"Perfectly healthy," Draco insisted. His eyes closed. "Besides. It's true. It would only be vain if we _weren't _absolutely stunning together." Shamelessly, he lifted and squeezed a full, round breast.

She put a hand over his, encouraged the squeezing. Her nipple peaked beneath their ministrations. Draco fussed at it until Cissa moaned and squirmed. "So you won't object to Potter's audience?" A feminine hand wrapped gently around his spent, sticky cock, stroking in response to his attentions.

He grunted. "I can't believe you're serious about this…but no, I don't object. I'm rather glad, actually."

"Why is that?"

"Mother, I've been trying to tell you for weeks just how breathtaking you are. And yet you insist on moping in front of your mirror and whinging about lines beside your mouth. Ridiculous." He shifted again, starting to harden despite his exhaustion. _Damn her…_ "Perhaps the appreciation of another pair of eyes will help drive my point home?"

"Perhaps," she said slowly. Her eyes were glimmering in the orange flicker and Draco could see thoughts swimming in them. It was a little scary.

"What are you thinking?" He ran a finger down her nose, breaking her unwavering concentration.

"I suppose I was thinking…" She twisted and propped on her elbows, meeting his gaze directly. Her features were softly serious. "Sometimes, the only way to guard a secret is with another secret. Yes?"

His forehead creased as he considered her words. To the Slytherin in him, there was common sense. "I suppose so. Yes."

She gave him a very gentle smile, stroked his jaw delicately. "Draco…what if Mr. Potter…wanted to join us?"

He felt his eye twitch. His nostrils flared. _Potter fucking my mother… _Images flooded in unstoppable. He sat up, needing air, needing to cool off. She put a hand on his ribs, immediately sensing she'd upset him. "Draco. I'm not suggesting that –"

"I think that's exactly what you're suggesting," he said. He dropped his head into his hands. "Bloody hell, mum."

"I know that you trust him, son. I'm not implying that I don't trust your judgment. But…"

"But you don't trust anyone."

She shrugged. "No. I don't. Not other than you."

He nodded. "I know." It wasn't her caution that upset him. He understood her reasoning – one snake to another. It was jealousy – pure and simple – that sharpened the bitterness on the back of his tongue. "You want him, then?"

She sat up facing him, made certain he was seeing the truth in her eyes. "It never occurred to me before now, no."

"You joked about it once."

"Joked, yes. Once. I've also joked about Kingsley Shacklebolt. But did I take the chance when I had it down my throat?" She took his hands. "I belong to you, you know. And if the idea is truly appalling let's forget I mentioned it. I merely saw an opportunity to protect ourselves by including the implicator. But if you trust him…" She nodded decisively. "Well. I trust _you_."

Draco looked at her body leaning toward him in the dying firelight. _So bloody beautiful…_ The sudden image of Potter's hands stroking her pale curves made his cock jump. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ "Would you enjoy it?"

She looked down shyly, appeared thirty years younger for a moment. "I won't lie. I think any witch would be flattered by the attention. Pleasured by the…" She shook her head. Met his eyes again. "I would enjoy it. But," she added quickly, "I wouldn't _dare_ sacrifice what we have for a fleeting inclination."

"Inclination?" He chuckled darkly. "Is that what we're calling it these days?" An image of Potter's mouth on his mother's. He stretched his neck.

Narcissa stroked his leg comfortingly. "Let's just forget it. I think an evening of voyeurism should more than satisfy my more aberrant curiosities." She started to rise. He stopped her with a grip on her wrist. "Draco?"

"I think…I think I might enjoy it, too." His confession was quiet and accompanied by a full-body blush.

"Oh." Her surprise was equally quiet. She took a breath. "Well. Let's just…see what happens. Shall we?"

He kissed her purposefully, pressed her back to the rug. "Whatever happens, you're still mine."

Her dark smile answered him affirmatively.

**AN: **Thanks to Narcissa's Dragon and Narcissa Nerea for their daring deviance and valuable opinions, and thanks to all who have read, reviewed, followed or favorited. These things feed the leo's ego.


	3. RSVP

Malfoy Manner:

Birthday Witch

Part the Third: RSVP

_Potter – We're having a small informal celebration for my mother's birthday on the twentieth at seven here at the Manor. Mum would love to have you. So do come. – Malfoy_

Narcissa snatched the scroll from Draco's hands. "Hardly," she exclaimed. "Why not just write, 'come shag my mum?'"

"Well, if you want to be straightforward…" He reached for another parchment and she slapped his hand away.

"Oh, let me." Her quill scritched, producing an elegant, lilting script in deep indigo.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_My mother and I should greatly enjoy the pleasure of your company on the evening of the twentieth at seven o'clock to celebrate the anniversary of her birth here at our home. The gathering will be small and intimate, so no formal attire is required. Please honor invitation only status as we wish to keep the event discrete and exclusive. Owl with regrets only._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Draco regarded the message balefully. "That doesn't sound like me," he complained.

"Exactly." Narcissa split a scone. "Re-write it and send it."

He sighed and set to work. Done, he summoned Mint and stirred his tea. The elf popped in wearing a turquoise tea towel. Draco scowled at it. It scowled back. "Take this to the owlery." Narcissa scowled at Draco. He tisked. "Please." The elf reached for the scroll, and Draco snatched it back twice before finally surrendering it.

"Mint," Narcissa pinched her son's arm and ignored his hiss of pain. "Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything for mistress."

She smiled. "I should like for you to take the evening of the twentieth for yourself, Mint. Perhaps for reading or visiting friends?"

The elf's huge eyes watered. "Mistress is so kind to Mint!"

"Well, you're a fine…elf, Mint. You deserve a nice rest. Now. Off to the owlery, please."

Quivering with excitement, the elf popped away without even a mildly hateful glare at Draco. "Male or female, it's insolent and kickable," Draco groused.

"You antagonize it!" Narcissa reminded. Her son was staring at her, a smile spreading across his face. "What?"

"You're excited."

"Excited for you to kick the elf?"

"Don't be daft." Draco's gaze was unwavering. "You're excited about Potter coming."

She pursed her lips and looked into her tea – a sure sign of embarrassed affirmation. "He's not even invited yet. And he may well refuse."

"He won't refuse."

"You know that?"

"Yes, I know that." Draco's eyes hardened slightly. She noticed.

"What's wrong?"

He shook himself. "I'm preparing."

"For?"

His jaw clenched. Honesty was so damned _difficult_. "For seeing you with another wizard." He fingered the lip of the sugar bowl absently.

She reached for his hand. "Draco. It doesn't have to come to that. And it's possible it won't. If you become…uncomfortable or –"

"I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I _want_ to see it, mother." His look went stony. "That I want to see your face when a stranger fucks you." Her nostrils flared. "The contrast of his hands on your skin." Her own hand stroked her chest. "His head between your thighs." She pushed away from the breakfast table. "How he kisses your wet mouth."

She came to stand by his chair. "Draco." He looked up at her. "Would you like to go to bed?" Her fingers at her sides were stroking her hips. He recognized the gesture as a steadying one.

"We just got out of bed, mother."

Her lips pursed. "I'm aware of that."

Her cheeks were deeply flushed. He wondered… "Perhaps, you would consent to visiting the cellars with me? I would like to choose something special to pour up for your birthday." She looked to the left, considering his offer. He could see her pragmatic mind churning the possibilities.

"Fine." She finally acquiesced.

Draco grinned widely and leapt from the table. "Alright, then."

The cellars had changed much in the last years. Narcissa had insisted on making them functional – removing the stigma of 'prison.' Now the catacombs housed various stored furnishings, and a vast winding maze of fragrant oak wine shelves. There were bottles as far as the eye could see… "I was thinking champagne," Draco said.

"This way." Narcissa turned and led them through an elaborate archway to another wall of shelving. Sconces flared as they passed, casting a muted bluish light. "Here. I think the older vintages are at the top and the –"

She gasped when her back hit bottles, and she hadn't recovered the breath when Draco's mouth arced across hers. "Mmmm!" Bottles jarred when Draco shifted against her, shedding his jacket and pulling at her frock. He was rarely considerate of clothes in the pursuit of passion, so it was no surprise when she heard her bodice rip. "Draco!" She tore away from him only to have her bared breasts attacked.

The bottles were cold on her hot skin. She felt them shift and clung to her son's firm back. "Draco! This is quite unsteady!" Her knickers ripped. "Oh!"

He shifted again. "Hold on, then." He shoved a wad of skirt into one of her hands. "And hold this, too."

"But –" He dropped to his knees and his mouth on her cunt hushed any protest. She hissed at the sudden sharp pleasure and grappled for a handhold. An empty wine slot provided the grip she needed, but meant angling her arm above her head. The position left her feeling dreadfully exposed.

But Draco had no complaints. He hooked one of her pale, goose-pimpled legs over his shoulder and lapped at her as one would the finest vintage; slowly, almost critically, analysing her flavours, colours and textures. A shaft of silver light between two shadows fell onto her feminine apex and Draco found the highlighting incredibly erotic. "You've a beautiful cunt, Narcissa," he whispered, kissing it.

She whimpered. He knew her secret – the small shame nearly all witches carry: that the part of them that makes them woman is imperfect, ugly or somehow deformed. He lived for proving her wrong, for ensuring that part of her was worshiped as the secret, complex wonder it was. And right now, the chill on that usually warm flesh was wreaking havoc on her libido. Her clit swelled beneath Draco's merciless mouth. His lips tugged it, tongue flicked it, teeth grazed and tortured it.

His hands were at work both for and against her, it seemed. One steadied her with a grasp on her hip while the other put fingers to use on her clutching core. With every nearly violent shudder that wracked her body, he gripped her harder. His fingers alternated stroking her plumped slit or plunging inside it.

The hand that had held her skirt above his head released it. The material remained rumpled by the sweat from her palm. She tangled the fingers in his hair. "Draco! Ugh…fuck…yes, son!" Close enough to orgasm, she abandoned propriety as usual and begged for or demanded what she needed. "Stop teasing me! Give me your fingers!"

His own cock ached for his release, so Draco took pity. He sucked hard at her clit, laved it back and forth firmly and fucked her hard with two long fingers. It did the trick and she came helplessly, limp as a cut-string puppet. Draco had to catch her nearly over his shoulder when she loosed her fingers from the wine slot.

"Woah, there. Good girl, mum." He stood, adjusting her now-pliable body to his salacious designs. "Almost done." Briskly he pulled two bottles of bubbly from the rack and turned her, put her hands in the empty slots. "Hold on tight, now." His trousers and pants dropped together and he tossed her skirt up over her arse. He heard the champagne bottles he'd set aside roll across the stone floor. It was a salacious score for sliding inside her.

The angle made the thrusts shallow he knew, and he'd learned how to scrape the most of his length across her g-spot. He knew he was successful when her head flung back far enough for him to eat her mouth. He swallowed her gasps and cries as though they were delicious. "D'you like when I fuck you this way, mother?"

"Unh…"

"Because I _love_ fucking you this way." Her breasts hung and swayed with his hips. He cupped and massaged them. He tasted blood. There was probably a bloodied lip between them. He slammed into her, so close to his own release. A few wine bottles slid loose from their pockets and clunked between the shelves.

"Draco," she growled. "I think I'm –" But she seized before she could even finish the phrase.

Draco felt her muscles contracting round his cock. "Yes, I think you are," he agreed breathlessly. "Me too." He bit her shoulder none too gently as his bollocks unloaded hot seed inside her.

When the spots cleared from his vision, he raised his head and didn't withhold laughter. Bottles were completely askew, yes, but none of them had broken. "Look there, mum." He kissed her temple. "I'd say we were quite careful."

She chuckled tiredly, shrugged him off of her. He gathered up his trousers and the bottles of champagne he'd pulled. "Draco."

"Hm?"

"Must you always tear my frocks?"

He fingered a few hanging buttons on the dress back. "Who has time for all these buttons? Get simpler frocks."

She smirked. Stroked, then kissed his cheek. "I'll see what I can arrange." She gestured to the bottles he held. "Those?"

Draco shrugged, ushering her towards the stairs. "These will suffice."

She gaped at him. "You didn't care about the champagne, did you?"

"Of course I did!" He took on a quite serious expression. "Besides. We need to keep those two slots empty. I'd say they were the perfect height, wouldn't you?"

Potter's RSVP arrived with a quickness. Draco took great joy in flourishing it before his mother. "I told you." He held the missive above her head and just out of her reach. "He says 'I very much look forward to celebrating with you.' How quaint."

"Draco!" She managed to snatch the parchment. She bit her lip as she read it, and Draco leaned over her shoulder.

"Do you suppose Potter will appreciate the kind of celebration we have in mind?"

Narcissa pushed back into Draco's chest, arched her neck for his wandering lips. "I hope so."

Draco lifted her cup of tea and sipped it as she unbuttoned his trousers. "I have a feeling he will," he murmured, patting her silky head as it bobbed.

He watched her with lazy eyes, propped against the foot of their bed. "You look incredible. Stop fretting."

"I'm not fretting." She turned from her mirror, swept eyes over him. "You should finish getting dressed."

Draco shrugged. "I am finished."

"Hardly! No tie? No cuff links? You look half-cocked."

"I assure you I'm fully cocked, mother." He smirked. "I simply see no need to dress formally when we'll be shedding clothes soon enough." He rose and fingered the tie at the nape of her neck. "Seems you feel the same."

"Do you like it?" She gave him a turn.

His eyes swept hungrily over her form. The dark blue velvet hung loose and heavy on her form, sheathing just enough. It was backless, and when she shifted just right, revealed the barest amount of firm, round breast. "I adore it." He swept a fingertip down her spine. The dress cut a deep 'v' above her arse, nearly showing the shadowed crease there. "You look every bit a birthday girl."

"Thank you, darling. Has Mint set the table?"

"Indeed."

"Then I suppose we should wait downstairs."

He gestured toward the corridor. "Lead the way, Madame." He watched her hips sway down the stairs to the ground floor. A bare shoulder beckoned to him, the other covered by a curling cascade of her hair. She was positively stunning in elegant simplicity. A knock sounded at the front door, and she turned wide-eyed to Draco.

He brushed past her with barely a raised brow. "Early. Not terribly surprising from the ever punctual Mr. Potter." But on the last step, Draco stopped. "You get the door, mother. The birthday witch should greet her guest."

She drew herself up, raised her chin and stepped past her son. "You're absolutely right, son."

Draco leaned casually against a column as she approached their doors, a slender hand stroking her neck self-consciously for just a moment. Potter was looking out at a strutting peacock when she opened the door. He turned and promptly gaped. Draco rolled his eyes and watched the exchange.

"Mrs. Malfoy."

"Mr. Potter."

"Uh…"

Draco finally stepped in behind his mother, peering around her to save Potter from abject humiliation. "Potter! Glad you could make it."

Potter's eyes hadn't left Narcissa's body. "Thank you for…for having me." He seemed to shake himself as Narcissa took his cloak. "Oh!" He reached for the article of clothing awkwardly. She paused as he reached inside it, brushing against her hip. "I have a…um…" He produced a neatly wrapped parcel. "A gift. For you." He presented it almost shyly.

"Why, Mr. Potter." Narcissa cooed. She accepted the package gracefully, allowing her fingers to stroke Harry's. Draco's nostrils flared slightly. "Thank you so much. Please, come into the dining room."

"Something smells wonderful," Harry commented, following the Malfoys.

"Honey glazed salmon, I believe," Draco said.

The dining room was lit only by a few slender candles atop the table. Harry took in the decadent – but unpopulated – table with wary eyes. "Am I too early?"

"Not at all." Draco withdrew the chair at the head of the table for his mother and gestured for Potter to sit at her side. "I'm afraid you're our only guest this evening, Harry." When he popped the cork on the champagne, Harry jumped in his seat.

"Oh!"

"Do you care for oysters, Mr. Potter?" Narcissa offered a platter.

"Th – Thank you," Harry slid a half shell from the plate as Draco poured a flute of bubbly. He watched Narcissa's graceful throat work a cold raw delicacy down her throat before he finally did the same. He gulped his drank as though thirsty.

Draco poured him another smoothly. "I'm afraid I'll be your servant this evening, Potter." His silver eyes cut to Narcissa. "My mother has given the elf this evening off." He lifted the cover from a porcelain platter, revealing the salmon.

"Ah." Harry swallowed thickly. "I see."

"Do you, Harry?" Narcissa asked softly. He looked at her. She served him salmon and buttery artichoke. "Or shall I say, '_Did_ you see?'"

"Did I…"

"I told her, Harry." Draco ate his salmon with gusto. "This is excellent, mum. Really."

"Yes, Mint did a fine job." Her eyes slid to Harry's processing face. "Draco tells me you witnessed quite a spectacle on Samhain Eve, Mr. Potter."

He closed his eyes as if asking for patience. "Mrs. Malfoy. I – I meant no harm. And I told Draco –"

"Yes, I'm aware what you told Draco." She took up the parcel he'd brought her. "May I open this now? I see no reason to stand on formalities tonight. And I do so love mysterious…packages." She was already tugging at the twine with dark blue varnished nails.

Harry couldn't seem to meet either pair of eyes. "Please," he murmured. "It _is_ your birthday, Mrs. Malfoy."

"It is, isn't it?" The paper fell away to reveal a package of elegant monogrammed parchment. "Oh, Harry," she breathed. "May I call you Harry? This is truly lovely. Draco?"

"Very nice, mother." He winked at Potter who chewed his bottom lip. "You've excellent taste, Potter." Narcissa set the parchment aside and Draco plucked her hand away from it, raised it to his lips and kissed the slender wrist. "I'd say your taste must be comparable to my mother's taste which is…exquisite." His kiss turned to a bite and Narcissa drew a sharp breath.

Harry cleared his throat and made to rise. "I should go," he blurted. But his heavy chair did not cooperate and the table jarred against his lap. He huffed back into his seat.

"Don't leave, Harry." Narcissa offered him a glass of champagne. He practically snatched it and gulped thirstily. "There," she cooed. "Do stay and eat. I love seeing a young man with a healthy appetite."

And they did eat, managing with the aid of Narcissa's impressive social grace to overcome the awkward anticipation hanging over the table and to converse of mainly mundane things. Hogwarts business. Mutual acquaintances. Quidditch. Literature. In fact, by the time salmon, artichoke and oyster had disappeared, Harry could have nearly forgotten his apparent purpose, but not his impressive erection.

Draco watched Harry's eyes devour Narcissa's every graceful move. A trickle of jealousy had long since grown into a pool of prideful desire. _Potter may have her tonight, but she's mine forever. _He'd no idea she could be such a temptress, such a flirting irresistible seductress. But her every shy smile, teasing wink and bitten lip lured Harry like a pixie to mischief. Any possibility of the scarhead refusing the evening's entertainment evaporated from the hot griddle of Draco's brain. No doubt Potter would watch the performance…but would he become a performer?

The second bottle of champagne was nearly empty. Narcissa laughed at something and Harry joined her, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. "Oh, Draco! Did you know that about McGonagall?" Cissa's eyes glittered at her son.

"I did, mother." He didn't. He truly had no idea what those two were going on about. He watched Harry's hand slide slowly down his mother's arm before skimming off her elbow. He licked his lips. "Cake," he said simply.

"Hm?" Narcissa blinked at him. "Oh, yes! My cake! Do fetch it, Draco. Do you like chocolate, Harry?"

"I do," Potter murmured. He was staring at Narcissa.

Draco smirked as he rose. She could have asked if he liked bowtruckle offal and Potter would have answered in the affirmative… "If the two of you will excuse me for a moment?" He gave a loose bow and left for the kitchen, sliding his fingers across his mother's shoulder as he went. She brushed his fingers with hers, and her eyes told him to take his time in fetching the cake. He imagined she would be putting the finishing touches on Harry's preparation for the activities to come.

Hearing the pair's laughter fade as he walked the corridor, Draco smirked. He shifted uncomfortably in his trousers, and wondered if he wasn't more excited for his mother's birthday than she was.

**AN: **Thanks to Narcissa Nerea and DracoLovesMum for your opinions, advice and inspirations. And thanks to all of you who are reading, following, favoriting and especially reviewing. You're all just tremendous! One more chapter of shameless smut to come soon.


	4. Cake and Wishes and Birthday Licks

Malfoy Manner:

Birthday Witch

Part the Fourth: Cake and Wishes and Birthday Licks

There was only one candle on the cake. Light blue and spiraling. It cast a hefty amount of glow, though, and when he re-entered the dining hall, Draco had to pause. The candle illuminated a scene from some sensuous painting: His mother - an elegant goddess in velvet - leaning into Potter - the rakish youth in rolled shirtsleeves. They looked close to kissing, but Draco suspected Narcissa had every intention of saving that activity for him to witness if not instigate.

The pair righted almost guiltily, and at that moment, instigation seemed like a wonderful idea. "Cake," he announced unnecessarily.

Narcissa smiled widely and gasped at the concoction. "Lovely," she breathed. Her eyes glimmered in the flicker when he set it before her.

"Just like you," Draco murmured. "Happy birthday, mother." He dipped his index finger in the marbled chocolate and vanilla icing, brought it to her lips.

"Thank you, son." Her mouth wrapped round his digit firmly. Her eyes met his as she sucked. He took a steadying breath. "Mmmm." She moaned as she pulled away. "Delicious."

Draco leaned over, catching Potter's rapt eye as he did, and swept the dot of icing from her bottom lip with his tongue. "Indeed," he agreed. Kissed her sweetly. Again his finger descended to the cake. "Would you like a taste, Harry?" He rubbed the sweet glob sloppily across Narcissa's puckered mouth.

Harry's gulp was quite audible. "I would," he managed huskily. He watched an undecipherable look pass between the Malfoys. Draco nodded, and the witch was leaning toward him. As if he couldn't have resisted if he'd wanted to, Harry met her over the corner of the table and learned the flavor of sin.

Draco had been correct. The image of Potter's mouth moving on his mother's was electrifying. His cock swelled at the sick pleasure of it. Harry's hesitation and shyness seemed to dissipate under the seductive lure of Narcissa's breaths. Draco could see the other wizard's tongue travel wetly along the sensitive edge of his mother's mouth before disappearing inside again. He watched one of her neatly manicured hands leave the table edge to stroke Harry's smooth face.

Potter pulled away suddenly, as if awakened from some lusty dream by her touch. "Gods," he murmured.

"Mm," Narcissa answered.

Draco descended before awkwardness could. "Perhaps you're as perfect with my mother as I am, Potter." They both looked up at him. "I'd like to find out."

"Draco." His mother's eyes thanked him tenderly.

He stroked her chin. "Blow out your candle, Cissa. And make a wish." Again, his gaze caught Harry's and both wizards watched her lips 'o' and blow delicately until the flickering flame puffed to smoke.

But extinguishing one fire set another less obvious one to burning. Draco brandished a glistening silver knife. "Would you like to do the honors of serving my mother's cake, Harry?" He asked lowly. "Or would you rather join us upstairs...and make her wish come true?" He allowed the moment to fall for what it was. An invitation extended gracefully. His mother smiled her approval at him before looking to Potter.

There was no expectation in her expression - just naked hope.

Harry looked between the two of them for a second, perhaps slightly longer. When he reached for the knife Draco offered, Narcissa's eyes fell and Draco's widened with undisguised surprise.

But Potter's hand only placed the knife on the table. It thunked into Narcissa's line of sight and her eyes slid up Harry's bared arm to his earnest face. He rose, this time more gracefully. "Far be it from me to deny a witch her birthday wish," he said. He extended a hand to her.

Narcissa took the hand, licking her lips. She looked to Draco as she rose. He smirked at her. "Lead the way, mother." He took up three champagne flutes and the unopened second bottle. Just in case. "I'm right behind."

If she was nervous - or more likely excited - it barely showed. She was as composed as ever, leading Harry confidently up the stone steps to the first floor landing. As they rounded a thick column, she gave him an unguarded smile. Harry was grinning and blushing like a schoolboy and Draco imagined that was exactly how he felt.

For his own part, Draco was enjoying the sensuous sway of his mother's hips beneath a waterfall of cobalt velvet. She glanced at him over her shoulder and he winked.

Her confidence didn't falter even after crossing the threshold into their room. Draco watched from the corner of his eye as Narcissa continued to seduce Harry with whispers, brushes of lips against his ear. He bent to her, lured as if to a siren. She traced the veins in his arms with sultry fingers. Their kisses were light and flirtatious, but Potter lurched when Cissa stroked his erection through his khaki trousers.

Draco nearly laughed. Nearly pitied her willing victim. He busied himself, wanting to allow her the extra 'luring' time. He swept open the heavy draperies, letting the moon and stars light the room through thin tulle hangings. He lit a fire. Popped the cork on the champagne and poured.

A tiny sound from his mother caught his attention as he summoned a chaise and small table from across the room to the bedside. He looked up to see Harry's mouth devouring her neck, a thumb beneath her frock's edge had obviously found an aroused nipple.

Draco's mouth dried. He took a long drink of champagne and dropped his wand onto the table. The sound broke the couple apart.

"I'm so sorry!" Harry chuffed. He was trying to gather his wits - unsuccessfully, Draco imagined - and holding Narcissa at a shaky arm's length. He looked guiltily between the Malfoys. "I shouldn't have -"

Narcissa was shushing him, pressing against him again. But Draco smoothly took the situation in hand. Held out a flute of golden, bubbling liquid - the Felix Felicis of lust. Harry took the libation and Draco took another from the table for his mother. "Potter," he began, approaching them casually. "Birthdays are about celebrations. And they're about choices."

Behind his mother, he placed champagne kisses on her shoulders, purposefully leaving glistening traces of the beverage on her skin. "We offer you a choice tonight." He traced formless designs on Narcissa's back. She shivered and worked free the buttons on Harry's shirt. Harry watched her fingers. "You can sit here - " Draco gestured to the chaise " - as our guest and watch me fuck this exquisite witch, which - if I might add politely - you've already done in far less comfortable circumstances. Or..." He loosed the tie back of his mother's neck, watched Potter's eyes fall predictably to her bared breasts. "You can relinquish the seat to me and let me watch you fuck this exquisite witch."

Potter gaped. Draco pressed his champagne flute into his mother's free hand. She held the glasses aloft, sighing as her son cupped and massaged her tits. He tweaked her coral nipples til they stood at attention in the cool air, knowing Potter salivated. "Tell him, mother." He whispered in her ear, kissed his way down her neck.

"It's true, Harry." Narcissa's voice was breathy beneath Draco's ministrations. She handed off the champagne flutes to Harry. He drank one swiftly before setting the glasses on the bedside table. "I told Draco to bring you here for me. For my birthday. I want you to watch and if you want -" she hissed when Draco hit a particularly sensitive spot " - if you want...I want you to join us." One hand curled behind her, tangled in her son's fine locks. The other beckoned to Harry.

He took the hand hesitantly, but let her pull him to her. "Join you," he repeated. His hands lingered just over the skin of her shoulders, the fingers brushing Draco's hair ever so slightly. "Draco said..."

Draco pulled away reluctantly from his mother's hold at the sound of his name. He grabbed Harry's hands and settled them firmly on Narcissa's breasts. She chuckled. "I said I would watch," he reiterated into her ear. "And I will...if Potter is more comfortable that way." His silver eyes flicked up to Harry's green ones. "I just want to see my mother happy on her birthday."

Harry met his almost challenging gaze and took it for what it was. "What do you want, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa reached up, took hold of Harry's collar and pushed his shirt off of him. Her eyes roved his body as she spoke. "I want you to call me Narcissa, first of all." She softly kissed his chest as Draco pulled her hair from her shoulder, let it brush her back. "And I want you to be the Gryffindor you are...and join me and my son in our bed tonight." Her fingers worked open his mugglish zipper, ventured inside his trousers.

"Oh, hell!" Harry groaned at her touch, leaned his forehead against the top of her head. "Bloody Slytherins..."

Draco laughed aloud, pushed his mother's dress over her hips. It pooled heavily at her feet. "Is that a yes, Potter?"

"I don't know what the fuck I'm thinking," Harry whispered, "but yes." Narcissa smiled and he smothered the smile with a kiss.

Draco stepped back, shedding his own attire, and watched Potter's hands skate over his mother's skin. "Well, for Merlin's sake, take her to bed, Potter," he grumbled. "I'll be along in a moment."

Truthfully, he wanted to watch for a bit, to take in what had become an obsession over the last several days: another wizard's hands, mouth and cock working his mother. He sat on the chaise, calmly removing his shoes, socks and trousers. Harry struggled to free himself from such bonds while Narcissa sluiced onto the bed like mercury across a hot cauldron lid. Draco couldn't help grinning at his peer's eagerness.

Soon, the two were kneeling on the bed, exploring new territories. Draco summoned a champagne glass from the bedside table and filled it. He relaxed into the lounge, raised a toast to his mother when she caught his eye over Potter's flexing shoulder.

"Draco?"

"In a moment, mum," he answered darkly. He settled into a shaft of shadow. The champagne was working its magic. His arousal was less urgent, more luxurious. It put him in a hazy bliss.

He wondered if his mother looked so abandoned when she was with him, if her eyes glazed like that, if her toes curled like that. Probably. He grinned lazily when Potter laid her back and began kissing a path down her body. It was Draco she looked at, though; her icy blue eyes fluttering in the sconces' low lights.

It was Draco who took Potter's glasses when she removed them, set them on the table by the chaise. It was Draco whose name she sighed when Harry found the ticklish underside of her breasts.

It was Draco she reached for when Harry's mouth settled over her core, when his tongue slicked a blaze of pleasure up her wet slit to her throbbing clit. She arched. Potter's hands - darker than Draco's tightened on her hips. Her face was a mask of frustration and want. Draco's nostrils flared. He could smell her desire, and knew what she needed.

He sat forward, feeling drawn to the action unfolding. "Good, Potter," he said. "Give her your fingers, now. Fuck her with your fingers."

"Mm." Potter listened. Narcissa lunged at the introduction of strange digits sliding inside her.

"Oh, yes!" She cried out. Her hands flexed in the duvet, scrambled to Harry's shoulders.

Draco's cock twitched. He tensed on his seat, gave himself a brisk stroke or two. "Suck her clit, Potter. Hard, then lightly. Flick it side to side with your tongue."

Not only was Harry relatively attentive, but he seemed to take instruction well and managed to stretch the witch's pleasure into the realm of torturous. When she was sweating and cursing, Draco intervened.

"Draco, baby!" She reached for him again when the mattress shifted beneath his knee.

"Hush, mum." He stroked up the inside of her thigh, the backs of his knuckles scraping Potter's ear. When he bent, she lurched up to his lips, kissed him ferally. Draco slid his mouth along her jaw, her keening reverberating this close to his ear. "Is it good, mother?"

"Yes!" She gasped. "I want -" Her son's fingers in her mouth silenced her.

"Excellent." Draco rose, looked down to Harry's still working head. "Potter. Up."

Harry kissed his way up the witch's thigh, licked salaciously around her knee. His eyes were darker than Draco had ever seen. "Yes?"

Draco was tugging his mother up. "Lay back," he instructed. "Mum likes to ride. Don't you, mum?" She nodded, attacking Draco's mouth with her own. Harry helped her climb over him, adjusted her in the saddle. Draco pushed her mouth away, made her face Harry as she sank onto the darker wizard's cock.

"Oh, sweet goddess," Narcissa moaned. Different from Draco in every possible way, Harry was thicker inside her, stretched her but didn't quite reach the same way Draco did... She shifted. "Fuck! There!" Her head rolled back and Draco caught her mouth with his, pressed his front to her back.

Harry winced in pain as the witch set her gait. She seemed in little hurry, but his bollocks ached and his usual stamina was worn by the deviance in which he'd embroiled himself. "Narcissa," he growled.

She broke from Draco to smile down at Harry. "So good, Harry," she muttered. Her pace increased, but hardly the way he wanted. Draco straddled Potter's leg to whisper in his mother's ear. And Harry couldn't be certain what was whispered, but it sounded like Parseltongue and spread an amazingly alluring grin on Narcissa's face. At her nod, Draco slid behind her.

"Oh, fuck." Harry couldn't look away. This was his weakness before him: the splendid, sick Malfoys, gloriously twined like the snakes they were. She leaned back into her son's embrace with the trust of a lover longstanding. Pale hands on pale skin, their sharp features twin-like meeting on kisses and caresses. Draco's long slim fingers parted Narcissa's swollen folds and Harry could see her pink molten pussy eating his cock while Draco worked the pearl of her undoing.

Watching them this way, Harry could almost forget his own desire threatening to burst, threatening to burn him to ash. He relaxed in their glow, saw Narcissa moan around Draco's free fingers, laving them thoroughly. Draco pulled them from her mouth with a thick 'pop.' "This should be interesting, Potter," he murmured.

"Huh?" Lust, sex and corrupted blood flow made Harry a bit slow to understand. But seeing Draco's glistening wet finger disappear behind his mother - and the sudden pleasure contorting her beautiful features - made things quite clear.

"Oh, shite!" The witch pitched and hissed as her son readied her tight pucker with his finger. He slicked the sticky moisture from her cock-filled slit backward for his own devices. She leaned forward, dropped to her elbows and Harry buried his hands in her hair, pulled her to him for a kiss. Draco kept up his slow, deliberate work on her clit, driving his mother to motions and sounds he'd never wrung from her before.

Feeling her relax at last, Draco sheathed his own hardness in her arse, facing her initial resistance with gentle pumps of his hips. She broke from Potter's lips to grunt and cry out at the intrusion, but they were pleas for more breaking from her throat.

Harry fought against his own pleas. The odd sensation of Draco's cock pushing against his own through the soft, surrounding flesh of Narcissa's cunt was overwhelming. He pressed his eyes tightly shut until stars burst there.

"Yep. Definitely interesting." Draco's voice was thready and strained. The feel of Harry's hardness sharing space within his mother was obviously affecting him, as well. "Narcissa?"

"Yes!"

"We've all night long to worship you like a goddess." Draco leaned over her back to speak in her ear. Harry groaned at the change in angle and Narcissa reached back awkwardly to clutch her son's head. "So for now, I want you to come like a slut for me."

Harry may have been surprised to hear such language between the mutually adorative Malfoys, but the words worked like dark magic. He felt her tense beneath his hands, her whole body coiling like a spring, and he coiled in return. Unable to resist any longer, his hands gripped harder her hips - bruised them - and he thrust upward.

The trio cried out at once, collapsing, seizing and heaving like some mythical chimera in its death throes. And it was that 'little death' that claimed them, though perhaps not so little. The magic of three making it more somehow, making it greater. Immeasurable.

And not a death at all to the witch within the web of arms and legs - the witch far from the cusp of crone and still maiden at heart. She breathed the smells of sex and sweat, felt muscles relaxing that she'd long since forgotten. She smiled even filthy with fluids. A silence filled with breaths settled, broken by the son.

"Mother." He mumbled into her shoulder.

"Hm?" She mumbled into Harry's shoulder.

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you, son. Harry?" Potter groaned. Narcissa pushed onto an elbow - difficult given Draco's weight atop her. "Are you alright?"

Harry blew a shank of her hair out of his mouth. "I think I died."

"Again?" Draco asked.

Harry chuckled. "You're both crushing me."

"Don't be such a big girl blouse." Draco grunted.

"Don't start acting like bickering boy wizards now," Narcissa sighed. She nuzzled Harry's neck.

"This from the witch with two bickering boy wizards inside her."

"She can bloody count, Malfoy," Harry groused. "Gods. You've something narky to say about everything."

"I need the loo," Narcissa said.

"Oh, hell." Draco took a deep breath and extracted himself from his mother. Flopped to the mussed duvet. He caught the little kiss she gave Potter before slipping from the bed. The two wizards lay naked - side by side - staring into the gauzy bed canopy above them. Again, it was Draco who broke the surprisingly comfortable silence. "Well, Potter. Thank you for coming."

Harry chuffed laughter. "Is that it then? My work here is done?"

Draco shrugged. Settled his arms beneath his head. "She'll be in the loo for an hour. Might even bathe. We should have a rest."

"A rest?" Harry looked at his odd bedmate.

"Oh, yeah. She'll want another go. Or two."

"Good gods," Harry muttered. he seemed thoughtful, chewed at his lip.

"You alright? Really?" Draco asked. He was genuinely concerned.

Harry nodded. "I was just thinking...I'll be engaged in a fortnight. I should probably feel guilty right now."

"But you don't." Draco tisked. "Fortnight is a fortnight, mate. And snakes don't spill secrets."

"That's true." Another silence fell. Potter sighed, tabling his thoughts for later. Then, he began to laugh.

"What?" Draco propped up, looking at him. "What's funny?"

"I was just thinking. How proud old McGonagall would be of our interhouse relations skills right now."

Draco snorted. "That's gross, Potter."

More silence. Muffled sounds emerged from the cracked door of the loo. The sound of running water. "D'you say she was having a bath?" Harry asked.

"Yeah."

Harry nodded. "Should we...you know...join her?"

Draco's ears perked. His brows quirked. "Merlin's beard, Potter. I was thinking the same bloody thing."

Harry groaned as he slid from the bed. "First time for everything." He offered his arm, helped pull Draco from the bed. "It is her birthday, after all."

Draco slapped Potter's shoulder as the two naked wizards made their way to the loo and the witch who was doubtless waiting for them inside. "Cheers to that, mate."

**AN: **Thanks to all of you for being so patient with this last chapter. I hope I made it worth the wait. Who is ready for awkward Malfoys at Harry's engagement party?


End file.
